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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24117049">Juno Steel &amp; the Case of the Body Swap</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvinwhizzer/pseuds/marvinwhizzer'>marvinwhizzer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Penumbra Podcast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bodyswap, Canon-Typical Angst, Closure, Complicated Relationships, M/M, Post-Break Up, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Season 2 finale, References to Depression, TPP Minibang, TPP Minibang 2020, The Penumbra Minibang, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:01:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,563</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24117049</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvinwhizzer/pseuds/marvinwhizzer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Juno wakes up one morning in a strange hotel bed, near-blind and disoriented, with nothing but a room full of clues leading him to an illogical conclusion: he is in Peter Nureyev's body. Finding out that Nureyev has been on Mars the entire time, Juno sets on a quest to find him, to tell him… he doesn't know what. He has to tell him <em>something.</em></p>
<p>Meanwhile, Peter wakes up on a ratty old couch in a mysteriously familiar room with a stiff back, a voice inside his head, and a lot of things he can't make sense of. A loud, excitable woman arrives to wake him and the truth becomes unmistakable: somehow, he is Juno Steel. He is mad at first, not having wanted to see Juno ever again, but he can't fight it. He can't really run from it, either, but that won't stop him from trying. While Rita steps out to get him a coffee, Peter slips out the window of the PI office and out into the hectic streets of Hyperion.</p>
<p>Written for the Penumbra Minibang 2019/20!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>134</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Juno Steel &amp; the Case of the Body Swap</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello everybody!!! Here it is!!!! At long last!!!! I've been working on this fic since October now and MAN has it been a wild ride. I'm beyond excited to finally share this with you all now, and even more excited to get to see all of the other works from this event come out as well. This event has been an amazing experience and I am so thankful to all my fellow writers, artists, all my friends who cheered me on and beta'd, and the lovely event organizers for making this all happen!! And an extra special thanks to my friend Elliot, who originally gave me the prompt that started this whole thing. This fic would not exist without you.</p>
<p>As this is for the Bang, I'm posting it alongside a few pieces of art which were done for it by my super wonderful artist partners, so I will be promptly editing this description to link to them and their awesome works as soon as they are posted! Stay tuned!!</p>
<p>Now, without further ado, please enjoy!</p>
<p>EDIT: This fic has art!!! Go check it out!!!! <a href="https://captaincravatthecapricious.tumblr.com/post/617915285041790976/juno-steel-the-case-of-the-body-swap">by captaincravatthecapricious on tumblr</a> / <a href="https://nurgayev.tumblr.com/post/617906648454971392/its-posting-time-this-is-the-piece-i-worked-on">by nurgayev on tumblr</a> / <a href="https://thewiredgalaxy.tumblr.com/post/617941116504948736/whats-up-yall-guess-who-was-part-of-the">by thewiredgalaxy on tumblr</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/nyicti/status/1260368718133002241?s=19">by nyctictea on twitter!</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Juno woke up looking at a very foreign ceiling. He was in a bed. He didn’t <em> think </em> he had gone on a drunken bender the previous night, but then again... it wasn’t like it was the first time he’d woken up in a strange bed before with no recollection of how he had gotten there. Stranger things had happened. Especially in his line of work. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But… no, he was at the office with Rita last night until…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He tried to remember.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Until 11:30,” he said aloud. “And then she left, and I…” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stopped. He cleared his throat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I got tired, so I went to lay down on the…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He cleared his throat again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Huh. That’s weird. Why is my voice weird?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The voice coming out of him was … familiar, somehow, but it wasn’t his own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Juno sat up. He looked down at his hands, and what he saw made him jump out of his skin. They were certainly, <em> certainly </em> not his own hands. He brought these foreign hands up to his eyes and rubbed, but when he drew them away, they were still pale and slender-fingered and <em> blurry. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He tried to get a gauge of his surroundings but.. … Everything was <em> so </em> goddamn blurry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Theia, he considered. The Theia must be acting up, fucking with his vision. But … no. Both of his eyes were organic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What the hell...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He squinted. There was a mirror on the wall opposite the bed. This much he could discern. He couldn’t make out a lick of detail, though. Just the form of a man who was <em> not </em> Juno Steel, moving when he moved. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The room seemed to be a hotel room, from what he deduced. But why? Where? How did he end up here? Why did he not look like himself, not sound like himself?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And <em> why </em> couldn’t he <em> see</em>?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looked around the foot of the bed, trying to find <em> anything </em> that could give him any clues to where he was, <em> who </em> he was. He spotted what looked like a suitcase half tucked under the bed. He hoisted it up into his lap and started digging. He had to hold the objects up <em> way too </em> close to his face to be able to get a good look at them. Clothing, loose papers, jewelry, a makeup bag that had been left open and gotten overturned, leaving a mess of products all throughout the array of mismatching clothing, crumpled papers, napkins, pens… A passport. Or… a plethora of fake passports, rather. It wouldn’t have taken a detective to figure out that they were fake. Nobody just had five different passports in their bag, when one was clearly travelling alone. He held them all up to get a closer look at them. The people in the grainy photos looked different enough to not be sussed out by the untrained eye, but Juno… well, he wished he didn't recognize them. He tossed them aside and kept digging, frantic, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Credit cards, checkbooks in five different names and three different languages, a birth certificate for “Kingsley Lao-Jones”, a temp hovercycle license under “Samuel Prince”, a slew of receipts pinned together with paper clips, a half-dozen pill bottles prescribed to “Peter Ransom”... </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Juno lay back down on the bed, feeling sick to his foreign stomach. It was more than clear who he was supposed to be, or who he was supposed to <em> think </em> he was, it just ... didn’t make any <em> sense</em>. If someone was doing this to taunt him, how were they creating the illusion? His eye … it felt <em> so </em> real.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And how did they even know about … ?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He fished around in the bag a little more but found nothing of consequence. Just more clothing in drastically contradictory fashions and styles,  a little bit of pocket money, and a cologne he didn’t recognize.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With not much else he could do and a brain that was pounding just thinking about the logistics of the situation, he moved on to the next place available to him to keep gathering clues: the bedside table. He reached out and grabbed the first thing he found. <em> Bingo</em>. A set of comms. His primary instinct kicked in: Call Rita.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Only one problem: this wasn’t his comms, and he didn’t know Rita’s number. Hell, he probably couldn’t have even punched in a number if he’d tried – the comms were newer and fancier than his own, and he already barely knew how to work that one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dammit,” he cursed himself. He didn’t like the sound of his voice. It twisted his stomach, pulled at his heartstrings.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He no longer had much of a desire to find his reflection in the mirror. He already knew what he would see. But he still needed answers. Where was he? How did he get here? What was he even going to do when he found out?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He reached his hand out again and found a slip of paper. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Scrawled across it in handwriting that he thought was going to make him sick, it read: Checkout time: 11AM. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh god, what time was it now?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He continued his blind feel-up of the nightstand, frantic this time. Jewelry, jewelry, keys, more jewelry … then he grabbed a hold of something, metal and sleek. He squinted. <em> Glasses</em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ohhhhhhhhh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Juno put the glasses on, and the clarity of the world hit him hard enough to make him dizzy. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>An accidental glance up at the mirror confirmed what he already knew, gave him a look at a ghost he never wanted to see. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His head was spinning too much. He couldn't think about the logic behind it. He just had to grapple with the facts for a minute: he was Peter Nureyev, and the clock told him he only had about an hour to check out of his hotel room. He wasn't sure how he was gonna do that. He didn't know what his own name was today. There had been maybe thirty different names shoved into that suitcase. Juno didn't want to think about how messed up <em> that </em> was. He scanned the room again and spotted a pile of clothes in the corner. He scrambled over and started digging through the pockets. Man, he forgot how much damn junk Nureyev kept on him. Eventually, he found it in the back pocket of his slacks: Nureyev's wallet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He let the pants drop to the floor and started taking apart the wallet. It was surprisingly concise. A travel rewards card, someone's business card, a credit card, a debit card, and an ID with Peter's face on it, and the name “Darcy Xiu."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Okay. He took a breath. Okay. He could check out, but ... he had to get his shit together first, and then he had to figure out where the hell he <em> was. </em> If he knew one thing about Peter Nureyev, it was that he never stayed still for long. If he was checking out of his hotel today, then he must have had somewhere he was going to go <em> next</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unless he didn't plan it, Juno pondered. God, it would be exhausting to have to get up and go somewhere new every morning. Maybe some days he just… didn't know where he was going to be the next day. </p>
<p>Juno tried to think of anything that would give him a clue to where he was going, if it would <em> matter </em> if he didn’t go there. He could lay low for a while and not go anywhere. He didn't even know what <em> planet </em> he was on, he realized, hot panic spiking in his veins.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pulled on some of the clothes from the floor and drew back the curtain just a sliver. He braced himself for what he was about to see: some distant world, maybe way too high up in the air, shimmering cities, or vast, unknowable landscapes, but… instead … he saw … </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mars.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This must’ve been out in Valles Marineris somewhere, somewhere Juno had never been personally, but still, it was unmistakable. The red sunrise against the bluish tint of the dome above. Why would Peter Nureyev be on Mars? Juno couldn’t stop thinking about the dahlias and roses he’d received on his birthday, and he felt sick to his stomach. Had Nureyev been here the whole time, without him knowing? His mind wandered back to the contents of his bag, and he went there, to search for clues, anything he could find. What was he doing, what was he thinking? What didn’t line up — that was where he went first, always.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So what didn’t line up?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The receipts. Juno had thought it was odd that a man with no records would keep so many receipt clippings. He pulled them out and dropped the bag back to the floor. He started sifting through the receipts, and he found that they only went back a week. He must’ve gotten rid of them whenever he switched aliases, he must have had a big plan for it, or maybe... Juno bit his lip. Maybe his system was a mess right now, considering the plethora of passports barely even hiding in his suitcase. Sifting through those receipts, Juno found… a lot of things he really didn’t like. Big bar tabs, high amount transactions with suspiciously little information on them…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Where have you been, Nureyev?</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter awoke with an ache in his neck and a throbbing in his head. He felt disoriented. He groaned, and went to roll over, but his whole back felt very stiff. What in the world was he sleeping on? It was very dark in the room. It was a couch, he was able to discern. And not even a full-size one, either, from the way his legs curled around and hung uncomfortably over the edges. A ratty, old loveseat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A loveseat?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d been in a hotel the previous night. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Suddenly in a panic, he sat up as fast as his stiff muscles would allow. It was too dark to make out much detail around the room. There was one window, which was being covered by a fairly thick blind. Before he could even hit feet to the floor to approach the window, a crisp, robotic voice filled the room, cutting clean through his thoughts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>&gt; Would you like me to activate Night Vision Mode? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was loud — loud enough that he couldn’t have possibly imagined it, and yet it was close enough that it seemed to be coming from inside his own head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looked around the dim room. It was starting to get less dark as his eyes adjusted. The room looked … familiar, it made him feel-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>  &gt; I cannot activate Advanced Vision Functions without User Permission. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who’s there?” Peter called, and the sound of his voice alarmed him most deeply. It was deeper, denser than he was used to, and it stirred up …<em> feelings </em> in him, something almost primal that he couldn’t quite identify or explain.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was no response. Because there was no one there, he quickly realized. He was alone. He must have… somehow imagined it. Or, it was a piece of AI tech malfunctioning somewhere in a hidden corner of the room. He tried not to think about the way it felt like it was literally piercing his skull from the inside out with its words, as if they were thoughts coming directly from his own mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t have much time to not think about it, though, because someone had started pounding on the door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With his heartbeat rising so quickly to his ears, he missed the first part of what was said, but he could hear a voice on the other side of the door. What danger was he in? Had he been abducted? Was this his kidnapper? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...what I <em> told you </em> about sleepin’ in the office, Boss, and Mista O’Flaherty ain’t gonna be too happy when he hears you went and messed up ya back again after he paid for that fancy massage ‘n everything. I’m comin’ in now, so ya better not be indecent or nothin’ cause you’ve had plenty ‘a time to respond to me and ya ain’t yet so I’m gonna assume you’re either sleepin’ or ignorin’ me and-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The door slid open. Peter tensed up. In the light of the doorway stood the silhouette of a short, plump woman with a tower of a bun atop her head. She kept talking but Peter wasn’t listening, too distracted by her familiarity.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter had definitely seen her before. Where, he wasn’t quite sure. He had seen a lot of people before, of course, but this woman was… familiar in a<em> different </em> sort of way. A way that made the little hairs on every part of his body stand on end.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The weird part was that he didn’t feel very threatened anymore. She kept talking, talking as if he was supposed to know what he was talking about. She wasn’t a kidnapper, or some kind of evil mastermind at all, she was- She was standing over him now, but he could see it in her sincere, saucer eyes that he was not at all in danger. She looked at him like she would a friend, or… a boss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mista Steel! Are you even listening to me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mister……………. Who?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mista Steel!” she repeated, though out of exasperation, not clarification. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter felt too dizzy to even try to listen, suddenly. He didn’t like the words she was saying to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s Mista O’Flaherty gonna say whe-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who?” he asked, and internally slapped himself across the hand for it immediately.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Mista </em>Steel!” she scolded again. “What on Mars has gotten into you today?” She stopped. Then she gasped. “Are you havin’ amnesia or somethin’?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She seemed weirdly more excited than nervous.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Err, perhaps?” Peter decided. Maybe amnesia was a good angle to go with here. Only… If people started asking him just how much he remembered, he’d have to start making up a lot of lies, very quickly. It might be easier to put this little mix-up behind him as a sleep-addled one-off moment and try his hardest to be convincing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“D’you really not remember who you are, Boss?” She gasped again. “Do you not remember who <em> I </em> am!? It's me, your beautiful secretary, Rita! RITA!!! And you're-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course I know who I am, Rita!” he snapped in the most Juno Steel fashion he could muster. He immediately wanted to apologize; being cruel to this lovely, kind woman was not Peter’s primary instinct, but he knew that Juno Steel would never apologize to anyone, so he held his tongue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh. Okay, Mista Steel.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t know <em> how </em> he was Juno Steel, but it was more than clear to him that this was who he needed to be. A cruel joke by the universe, certainly. The logic behind the situation alluding him completely, he found it easy to fold it away for the moment— a problem to think about later. Right now, he had to focus on the only thing he could: acting natural.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m gonna leave you to collect ya’self, Boss, and then you need to be ready to get to work. Mista O’Flaherty wants us to get that recon done before next week’s job, remember?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter pretended to have a clue what Juno’s secretary was talking about. “Of course.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oooookay, Boss, well, I’m gonna run down to the corner, I’ll get you some coffee if you like, ‘cause I need to get my snacks anyway, and you’re not really actin’ like yourself, and I bet a little bit of caffeine would-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That would be… good. Yeah. Thank you, Rita.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wow, Boss, a whole <em> thank you </em> !? You <em> really </em> must not be feelin’ like yourself today.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Luckily, Rita had started for the door now, so Peter wouldn’t have to put up with her inquiries for much longer. He listened to the tiny clack of her little heels against the floor as she left.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay, see you in a bit, bye Mista Steeeeeeel—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And she was gone, and Peter was alone again, on Juno Steel’s couch, in Juno Steel’s office, apparently in Juno Steel’s <em> body</em>, and he only had, he figured, maybe thirty minutes tops before he needed to dive right into a slew of research for a case he knew absolutely nothing about. Great.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pushed himself up off the couch, feeling a little woozy, disoriented by the shape of the room, and the shape of his body, and—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> &gt; Thought command not recognized. Would you like me to access video feed records to provide you with more information on your current surroundings? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hadn’t tried responding to it yet, he supposed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uhm… Yes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  &gt; <em>User’s Name: Juno Steel. The current time: 9:41 A.M. Current whereabouts: Your office, address: 1— </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who is my employer?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> &gt; <em>Current employer: Ramses O’Flaherty. Mayoral candidate, entrepreneur, philanthropist— </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s my current job?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> &gt; <em> Current objective: Assist Ramses O’Flaherty in finding out who is trying to sabotage his mayoral candidacy. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alright.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And who … are you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>&gt;<em>The Theia Spectrum unit is an advanced cybernetic, designed to assist Users with physical disabilities by enhancing their primary functions… </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Theia Spectrum. That was all he needed to find the info on his own. He wasn’t just going to sit back while the thing talked nonsense around him, he hadn’t got all morning. He went for his comms… only to be reminded that he didn’t have them. He wasn’t where he had fallen asleep. He wasn’t even wearing his own clothes. He had been kidnapped, somehow, and had something implanted in him, this Theia thing, and—he gripped at his unfamiliar shirt—had his clothes changed? But why would everyone think he was Juno Steel? It just didn’t make sense. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>For the first time since waking up, he got the chance to look down at himself, <em> really </em> look, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Because, well... It <em> wasn't </em>his skin. He held up a thick, scarred hand and turned it over, examining it with wide eyes and a turning stomach. He touched his chest, his face, his hair… none of it resembled his own. A trick? A magic spell? A piece of newly discovered Martian technology? This Theia thing, he considered. Was it creating an advanced illusion on him?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The cybernetic was his eye, he soon realized. Juno Steel was missing an eye, so it somehow felt like the only logical conclusion. And it explained why the voice was coming from inside his own brain. It didn’t seem very Juno Steel at all to have such an invasive (and pricey, he could infer) piece of tech implanted in him, especially after the hell he’d been through with the Martian pill fiasco, but here he was, and here it was, right in his eye socket.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His hands trembled. He needed to get a better look at himself. Finding his footing in socked feet on the hardwood floor of the office, he made a beeline towards the bathroom.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter flipped on the light, and was greeted by the shock of a lifetime. He had known, of course, what he was going to see, but nothing could have properly prepared him to see Juno Steel staring back at him in the mirror, in place of where his own reflection should have been.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He felt everything and nothing all at once. He felt numb, but there was a rage bubbling up inside of him. Staring into those mismatched eyes, he felt so much anger, so much hurt... All the memories, the night of whispers and kisses, the night after night after night of crying… It all came flooding back to him at once, feelings as fresh as the day they had happened<em>. </em> He watched Juno’s fist tighten into a ball, his face twist into a snarl.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He drew the shaking fist back behind him, full of fire, gripping his knuckles white, and … and then …</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He just felt tired.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He let his arm loosen, and fall to his side. Hitting Juno’s mirror wasn’t going to fix anything. He saw his own sadness, present there in Juno’s natural eye. He stared into that eye...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He felt a swirling in his stomach. He thought he was going to be sick.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He put a hand on the sink to brace himself. If this was an illusion, the details were remarkable. The deep bags under Juno's eyes, the scars on his nose and cheeks, the myriad of unnatural colours in his artificial eye, the clothes that he'd probably worn the day before, crinkled from having slept on his office couch overnight... Peter felt a wave of the strongest emotion he'd felt in a long while crashing over him. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly as he bent over the sink, hoping this weird nightmare would be over soon. He tried to remember how to breathe deeply through his nose.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he looked back up at the mirror, he saw Juno, once again, this time wide-eyed and panicked. He didn't like seeing him like that. He didn't like seeing him in the <em> mirror</em>, where his own reflection should have been. He brought his hands up to his face again. He felt Juno's lips, Juno's crooked nose, Juno's unruly hair… Could this really be real?</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Think, Nureyev</em>, he reminded himself. <em> Whether this is real or not: what’s your next move? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter knew the answer to that question almost immediately. It was the same answer it always was, always had been. He didn’t want to still be around here when Juno’s secretary returned. He could focus on the details later. He would file them away for now… </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looked down into the sink and took a moment just to breathe. He hadn’t even been aware that he was breathing so unsteadily. He squeezed his eyes shut again, and tried to focus on taking slow, deep breaths.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once he had calmed down significantly enough to handle it, he looked back up to the mirror one last time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Juno</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He allowed himself a moment just to <em> look</em>. He took in every detail, as best as he could, committing every inch of that face he so loved and despised, and then he filed it away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He turned away from the mirror and went back out into the office. Immediately, he knew his escape route: the window.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As Peter mounted the windowsill, he hesitated, just for a moment, looking back into the office, memories of a day long past echoing through his head. ‘I’d say I was succeeding.’ ‘<em>Is there room in that window for two?’ </em> He quickly shook his head, however. He was still mad at Juno. And there wasn’t time to think about this right now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He said a quick prayer under his breath, and took the leap.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“What the hell do you mean, I <em> can’t check out til tomorrow? </em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, you <em> could </em> check out today, Mr. Xiu, sir, but you’re not scheduled to leave until tomorrow. You’ve paid for the night already.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve— what? Oh. I see. I mean… I knew that. Obviously. Since… I’m… the one who did it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a short, awkward pause.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m just gonna… Go back to my room now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Juno scrambled back up to the hotel room and locked the door behind him, dropping his bags to the floor with a huff. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, that was a whole lot of stress for a whole lot of nothing,” he remarked to no one, sour. “Now what?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sat down on the corner of the bed and wracked his brain for a game plan. He’d already barely had one to begin with. He had no clue where he had planned to go after this. He sighed loudly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now what, indeed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“At least I have a little more time to think.” He still hated the sound of his stupid voice, but he was prone to self-narration during times of crisis.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Without the imminent pressure of a specific deadline, he was able to focus once more on the actual issue at hand: <em> what the hell is going on? </em>It stumped him, that was for sure. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then, something dawned on him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If I’m <em> him </em> … then, he must be … <em> me</em>. God, it sounds crazy when you say it out loud, doesn’t it? But he must be. He must be…” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But what the hell did <em> that </em> mean?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe it meant he could get some answers. He had a feeling this whole body swap thing was far from Nureyev’s doing, but he could get other answers. Like, why was he on Mars? And how long had he been here? He still didn’t feel ready to <em> talk </em> to him, but truth be told, he hadn’t expected to ever get the chance, so it was probably now or never. Maybe this was a sign.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Uncertainty and anxiety and all kinds of doubts were swirling all around inside Juno’s head, but one thing was certain: his next move was gonna have to be finding <em> himself</em>. And not in a metaphorical sense. Here, he meant finding himself in the most literal sense possible. He had to get to Hyperion City. And <em> fast</em>. Nureyev couldn’t have gotten that far yet, but Juno didn’t want him wreaking havoc in his body for too long. Who <em> knew </em> what kind of trouble he was getting into. Juno ditched Nureyev’s suitcase and took only the essentials into the smaller duffel.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hyperion City, here we come.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Juno ended up renting a car on one of Nureyev’s fake credit cards. He had to hand it to the guy, he had pretty foolproof crime plans. As much as he had mixed feelings on all of that, getting to Hyperion was too important to waste time worrying about it. Once he was driving across the Martian desert, radiation shields down and radio cranked up, he started to feel a little bit better. The car was nicer than his own back home—faster, too—and it would only take a couple hours max to get there, barring any complications.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time he arrived in Hyperion, he was starting to get the hang of his new body; it was kinda nice to be lean and <em> tall </em> for once, but he despised Nureyev's footwear choices. He was already tall, what did he need the 4 inches for?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Juno already couldn't go anywhere without the chance of being recognized, but normally he wore that feeling like a badge. He was Juno Steel, private eye, and he was gonna make that everybody's business. But today, he <em> wasn't </em> Juno Steel, and he didn't know how that was supposed to make him feel.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His fear of being perceived <em> as Nureyev </em> was crippling. The oversized tinted glasses Nureyev's alias was sporting that day luckily did most of the work at avoiding eye contact for him, but he was anxious, nonetheless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was nervous to find him. Obviously, that was what he wanted, that was what he came here for, but part of him was squirming inside, wanting so badly to turn and run away. Luckily, he was driven enough by the absurdity of the situation to fight with himself, but he still felt dread deep within his gut at the thought of even seeing Nureyev. Especially Nureyev as <em> him</em>. He didn't like that thought at all—for a whole multitude of reasons. But it wasn't like he had a choice right now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He parked the new car in the lot outside of his office — the first place he thought Nureyev-as-Juno might be. His old car was still here, which was a good sign, he supposed. He felt a chill run up his spine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Juno kicked off Nureyev’s stupid shoes and carried them up the echo-y staircase as quietly as he could. He had come this far without having to talk to anyone and he wasn’t about to start now. He slinked down the hallway and peered into his office window. The blind was covering it, but he could see that the light was on. He heard a voice, and saw a glimpse of movement. He scrambled to one side, out of the path of the window, and pressed himself against the wall. He recognized Rita’s voice, and the familiar clack of her heels against the floor as she paced the room, talking on her comms with someone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...just don’t know, Franny, I mean, he was here when I left, and now he’s just gone! I mean, I guess it’s not super atypical of Mista Steel to be <em> marchin’ to the beat of his own drum,</em>” she droned, “and all, but I can’t help but be a little worried. I’ve tried callin’ him, but his comms are turned off! And he ain’t answered any of my messages- Hmm? Did he seem off? Well, yeah, I suppose he was actin’ a little weird this mornin’.  I just assumed it was ‘cause I woke him up from his nap. He can be grumpy first thing in the morning. But then he asked me who Mista O’Flaherty was, and I was like, oh no, that new eye of yours is scramblin’ ya brain, Mista Steel, what am I gonna do? But then he said he was just joking, and he got all fussy and grumpy at me — you know, like he does—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So I went out to get him a coffee, ya know, ‘cause that’s what secretaries do and all, but when I get back, he’d just disappeared!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Disappeared, huh? Yup, that did sound an awful lot like Nureyev.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, if he wasn’t here, then where was the next place he might be? Juno’s apartment, maybe? Nureyev knew where to find it, and it would be a place of some solitude, to maybe get away from Rita for the time being, at least… Juno sighed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hang on, Franny, I think I heard someone in the hallway. Oh, oh!! Maybe that’s him!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Shit. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He heard the click-clack of Rita’s little steps on the wood floor as she approached the door, and he ducked back down into the stairwell. There was no way in <em> hell </em> he was gonna play <em> Nureyev</em>, not in front of <em> Rita; </em>he got the feeling she’d see right through him, somehow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mista Steel?” she called. Her voice bounced around the corridor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Juno held his breath. No matter what, if she saw him right now, as some random creepy stranger hiding in the halls, he’d get grilled. He was being suspicious as all hell already, and he wasn’t exactly good at playing an alias. Especially around Rita. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Huh… There’s nobody here. Maybe I’m imaginin’ things. Anyway, Franny, what was that thing you were sayin’ earlier about...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Juno released his breath as the door clicked shut behind Rita and he was alone once again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He made his way back out to the parking lot, still carrying his heels in hand. He crossed over to his rental car, the hot asphalt only mildly more uncomfortable on his feet than the shoes would have been. He really didn’t want to put the damned things back on, but he had to drive, so… He sighed. He dropped the shoes unceremoniously onto the pavement to show the world how annoyed he was at having to step back into them. He hadn’t even gotten one back on yet, however, when he heard a commotion nearby. There was shouting, and the sound of several people running. He turned his head to look, and saw two people in hot pursuit of another. This wasn’t super surprising, Hyperion being the crime hub it was and all, but something in particular struck him about the person running away that made him do a double take.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They were running this way, so he instinctively ducked lower next to the vehicles to shade himself from view. The assailants were fast, but the guy running away was faster, apparently. They were going towards the far end of the parking lot from him, and it looked like the guy might be cornered, but he didn’t even hesitate. He jumped, sliding over the hood of a car and leaping on top of a dumpster, his long coat trailing in the wind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That’s when Juno recognized what was so familiar about the guy. He’d know that ratty old trenchcoat and that stupid mop of dark hair anywhere. It was <em> him</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He kept low until they were gone from sight, his heart pounding in his ears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was himself, that was Nureyev, but… who the hell was he running from? It didn’t honestly surprise him much that Nureyev had managed to get into trouble already, but, still… He already had so many questions, and now he had even more, coupled with a healthy amount of fear for his own life. That was <em> his </em>goddamn body Nureyev was endangering here.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He threw himself into the shoes and the car. He had a runaway detective to catch.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p>One hour earlier… </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nureyev sat in the corner of the bar. He had exchanged very few words with the bartender and slouched low in his chair. He hadn’t wanted to be seen in this body, not by anyone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now, most would probably think: but Peter, acting is your forte! Playing a persona is what you <em> do </em> ! Why ever would you avoid that? The answer was plain: this was different. He played pompous noblemen; he played lavish-living, upper class snobs; he played smug, overzealous, lilt-voiced aristocrats. He <em> didn’t </em> play the Crass Detective. Well, he had played a detective once—a rather self-satisfied one at that—but this was different. This was different from...well, from anything. He didn’t like this. Normally, not “liking” a mission was not something he allowed to affect its outcome—it was easy to put those feelings all away into little boxes for however much time he needed to—but this <em> wasn’t </em> a mission. This wasn’t a <em> plan</em>. He didn’t want to be here and he had <em> no idea </em> what he was going to do about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had run away as quickly as he could and gone only where he had ended up: which happened to be a bar. He’d never heard of a bar that was open so early in the morning, but what was that old Earth saying? “It’s always fifty-three o’clock somewhere”? No matter. He was here and here he would stay, for as long as he needed to, he supposed. He would slouch at this bar and stare into his mediocre refreshment until … <em> until he caught his reflection in the bottom of it and felt sick. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was starting to feel sick right now, as a matter of fact.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Drinking yourself sick, are we?” came a voice from beside him. A few bar stools down was a tall man with a crunchy voice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter had trouble gauging an appropriate reaction. Was this a drunken stranger? Someone he was supposed to know? Or someone to be afraid of? His tone sounded inviting enough, but that could’ve meant anything. But then, the stranger said:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, wait a minute… I know you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>While Peter had been busy deliberating, the man had been observing him, quite closely apparently. He had always been good at hiding his nervousness, but he forgot for a moment that he was in <em> Juno</em>'s body; the Juno who wore his expressions on his face so prominently that even the slightest change in demeanor was impossible to miss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you Juno Steel?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter could feel the sweat crawling down the back of his neck. “That depends… who's asking?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The man sized him up, ignoring his dumb attempts at deflection. “Yeah… yeah! You are, too! You're that rotten P.I. who fucked up my case and then buggered off with the money.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Really? That doesn't seem to ring a bell." Peter decided plausible deniability was his best course of action. "You… might be thinking of a different Juno Steel.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I wouldn't recommend playing dumb with me, Steel. I've got friends all over this city.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That's never been a problem for me before.” Peter couldn't figure out why he had said that. He didn't want to pick a fight with this tough-looking stranger, but he didn't really appear to have much of a choice, here. <em> Juno </em> apparently picked fights with a lot of people he shouldn't pick fights with, and now <em> Peter </em>would have to make sure he lived to tell the tale. He didn't even want to think about what might happen if something happened to him while he was in Juno's body. Would they both die? Or just Juno?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The man stood up from his seat and started to come closer. Peter was feeling more and more uneasy by the second. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I-is there some way I can repay you? I don't want to cause any trouble, really. It was… a misunderstanding.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, sure, <em> now </em> you don't want to cause any trouble. Well, guess what, <em> Detective</em>?” he spat the word like it was coated in acid. “I think I do wanna cause trouble.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The man was getting closer to the bar now, and with a quick survey of the room, there were three or four other, larger men also looking at him, with ugly scowls on their faces. Peter knew he was in for some real trouble now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well!” he interjected, clapping his hands together. “It's been real nice chatting, gentlemen, but it appears I have to be going now!” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter stood up from his barstool and began backing slowly towards the door. The man nodded towards another, burlier man, and they both started to follow him. Running definitely seemed like the right course of action here. He continued his careful, non-threatening pace backwards as he sized up whether these men were armed or not. If they had guns, running might end badly. But if they were only trying to beat on him with their physical mass, he might have been at an advantage. They hadn't drawn weapons yet. And usually such a thing would have happened by now if it was going to happen. He figured he had good enough odds. He took another backwards step towards the door, slow and steady…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ta!” he said, and he bolted outside as fast as humanly possible. Juno's body wasn't quite as light and nimble as his own, but he was fast enough to make a good getaway. He could hear the men following not too far behind, but he felt a certain triumph at his evasion, and found himself smiling a little as he ran. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then, less so, as he had to keep running. The adrenaline pumped through him for long enough to continue, but the men were relentless. His heels fell too hard on the pavement and he was starting to feel worn out. He whipped around a corner, fast as he could, and into a winding alleyway. He rounded another corner and hoped that it would buy him a little time. His breaths were coming out of him so heavily, he didn't know if he had it in him to run much longer. Maybe he could hide…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>&gt; <em> Would you like me to assess the situation, and establish a recommended course of action? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh, right, that voice. It had been a few hours since he'd last heard from it, and he'd forgotten it was even there.  “Sure?” he said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>&gt; <em> Performing scan… </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>&gt; <em> Scan complete! </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, that was fast.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>&gt; <em> Determining best course of action… </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>&gt;<em> Recommended course of action:  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nureyev’s eye did a weird sort of <em> zoom, </em> drawing his attention to a parking lot up ahead. It seemed like it could make a good enough distraction, winding around the cars like that. The Theia began to detail to him the best course to run through the parking lot in order to lose these guys. It involved sliding over the hood of a car and leaping diagonally from the next car, to a dumpster on the other side of the parking barrier. He did what it said. With what he could only assume to be adrenaline boosting his movements, he made the leap up onto the dumpster, and immediately another on top of the nearest roof. He didn't think those men had the athletic ability to climb up here, but just in case, he kept going. He had heard them still on his trail when he got to the parking lot, but he wasn't sure now. He slid down the other side of the roof and hopped down onto another dumpster. He ducked down into the alleyway, and sat down on the ground, panting. He had lost them, for sure. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you, Theia,” he said as he caught his breath enough to speak again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> &gt; My pleasure, User Juno Steel. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter shuddered. He didn’t like to be called that. Now that he could breathe again, he filed that creeping reality away and went back to pondering on what his next plan would have to be. It occurred to him for one of the first times that the real Juno must’ve been out there, somewhere, possibly as <em> him</em>, and the thought was so overwhelmingly dreadful that he was glad he was already sitting down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His instinct was quite literally to run away, again. And he started doing it, too. But it was only a few steps in when he asked himself: what did he hope to accomplish? He couldn’t exactly run away from <em> himself</em>, now could he? Prison or not, Juno’s body was the vessel he was contained in now and he didn’t have control over that. What he did have control over were his actions. Keeping himself safe, and Juno’s body safe. Not getting them into any more dangerous business—that was what he could control. He pressed forward and sidled into another alley, out of view from the street. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knew where he was headed now, even though the mere thought of it made his stomach swirl and toss in utter dread. He focused on keeping his head low, staying inconspicuous. It was a welcome distraction from the inevitable. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He peered around the corner to check if the coast was clear for him to make an exit, and he noticed a car had pulled up that hadn’t been there before. It was idling by the curb. It was a grey car, unremarkable really, but it looked in pretty good shape, which <em> was </em> a bit remarkable for the section of Hyperion he was currently in. He really wouldn’t have thought much of it, though… if he hadn’t gotten a look at the driver.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight. It was … well, it was <em> him. </em> It was unsettling, to say the least, but the fact that it was his own flesh body walking around without him wasn’t even the half of his problems. No, in fact, much worse, was that it was <em> Juno. </em> He couldn’t tell, factually, if he was looking at him or not behind “Darcy Xiu”’s glasses, but he felt like he could <em> sense </em> it, he could <em> feel </em> that gaze on him, grabbing at him like cold fingers. He froze in place, a deer in the headlights.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then, as soon as enough of his senses had bounced back into his head to let him move again… He turned, and ran like hell.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Juno followed the road in the direction that Nureyev and his pursuers had gone in, but he didn’t have much luck. He circled the block a few times, not finding any sign of them. Nureyev must have gotten away, he told himself. But pricks of anxiety were still creeping through. What if they had gotten him? He was worried— not only for himself, but for Nureyev, too. He didn’t understand any of this. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He drove around the block another time, considering his options. Where would Nureyev go next, after escaping his encounter? His apartment? He’d be safe there, definitely. And Juno knew he knew exactly how to get there. He’d been before. Ah, memories Juno had worked so hard to forget...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was where he was going to go, though, no matter what the dread pooling in the pit of his stomach told him. The whole drive there, he could feel himself sweating. The sweat stuck to Nureyev’s clothes, and he felt too hot in his stupid tight shirt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He found himself taking a detour. He didn’t know why. To stall for time? And that’s when he saw Nureyev, slipping into an alleyway, which he knew to be a dead end. He’d lost the bad guys on his tail by now and would likely be stopping to catch his breath. Juno pulled over to the curb. This was his chance to approach. This is what he had been chasing after all morning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Only now that he was here… what did he even plan to accomplish? What would he even say? His mind felt like a blank piece of paper. Would Peter even be comfortable seeing him? His heart started to sink lower and lower in his chest. Nureyev had known damn well where to find him. He had been on Mars this whole time… and he hadn’t even been trying. If he had wanted them to talk… they would have. He could have done so whenever he wanted this whole time. He was handling things on his own terms. Terms which did not involve Juno.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Juno’s insides were twisting in on themselves. For a moment, in this hectic whirlwind of a day, he had almost forgotten what had happened between them. With the whole body switching mess— something straight out of Rita’s streams… combined with the thrill of running after Peter Nureyev again… Juno had almost forgotten that the last time they saw each other, he had broken Nureyev’s heart. It was hitting him all at once now, like a hard punch to the face. Nureyev wouldn’t want to see him. Today had probably already been a living hell for him and what right did Juno have to go and make that even worse?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He felt the hot guilt crawling its way up his throat. Part of him wanted to take that guilt and bear it to Nureyev. He was sorry. He regretted what he had done. But who would that be for? Nureyev, or himself? The point of an apology wasn’t to make <em> yourself </em> feel better. No, the worse he felt, the better, he decided. Nureyev would cope the way he needed to cope. Juno would respect that. He would turn his car around and head back to Nureyev’s hotel, and he would wake up in the morning to find the whole thing had just been a bad dream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he found himself lingering for a moment, despite all of his logical and self-loathing thoughts screaming at him to go. And his heart leapt into his throat as he saw himself—Juno Steel, in the flesh— peer around the corner. He felt frozen in place. He wasn’t sure if he saw him at first, but then...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He locked eyes with him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They weren’t Nureyev’s real eyes, but he could feel the very real spirit of him behind that gaze. It was so intense that Juno felt like he might black out for a second.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then, as quickly as it had happened… it was all over. Nureyev cast him one final glance, a wistful look in his eye, and then he bolted. He was gone, leaving Juno in an imaginary cloud of dust.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hadn’t realized his mouth had been hanging open until he caught a piece of real dust in it, and he erupted in a cough. This was enough to jolt him back to reality, at least. He turned the car around <em> so </em> much faster than was legal or safe, brakes screeching against the pavement.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was better this way, he kept trying to tell himself the entire drive back to the hotel. It was better this way, and he wasn’t upset over it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he went into the hotel bathroom to wash up for the night, he was actually relieved not to have to see his own stupid face for once. He was mad at himself. Nureyev, on the other hand, was hard to stay mad at. Even with the hot flame of Juno Steel anger behind his eyes, his features were beautiful and striking. Looking at every feature, he could vividly remember how it had felt against his own skin. He bared Nureyev’s sharp canine teeth and felt a shiver run up his spine. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He spent a while in that mirror, sulking; studying Nureyev’s face and thinking about how badly he wanted to kiss it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He thought about what could have been.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He allowed himself to wallow in that feeling for a moment before finally tucking it aside. It was no use. It wasn’t up to him anymore. He had blown that chance. It didn’t matter if he changed his mind now. It was up to Nureyev now. He had to accept that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If they never saw each other ever again, then that was Nureyev’s decision, and he was okay with it. He tried not to let it hurt him. It would be selfish. He had done the same thing— left, with no intention of ever seeing the man again, on that night he had his one chance. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It dawned on him that he didn’t really know how he was going to get his body back, but he was starting to feel tired, and he had the vague inclination in mind that maybe this was all a dream… Maybe soon he would wake up, and this stupid nightmare would be over. So he could get back to the stupid nightmare that was his real life. He groaned. Maybe his life really would have been better if he hadn't made the stupid decision to abandon Nureyev back then.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He just wanted to sleep, but he spent a long time being troubled by it. How would Peter ever even know what he was thinking when he never actually talked about it? It was too late to fix that now, but he could do something, couldn't he? Before it all went back to normal? In a scrambled panic, he grabbed a pad of paper from the bedside table drawer. Maybe he could do <em> something</em>, even if it was stupid and far too late. Maybe it could be something.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, this was it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter stood outside of Juno’s apartment door, keys in hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had never planned on going back here.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But in this moment, he didn’t care. He couldn't bring himself to care— not about where he was, not that Juno was out there in <em> his </em> body. He didn’t care for an explanation, he didn’t care for an apology, he just… didn’t care. He didn’t care to see him, despite how much his heart ached at the thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He turned the key in the lock and let the door swing open.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looked around the apartment, feeling exhausted, both emotionally and physically. His breathing was still uneven from the run over, and his heart was doing horrible twisting corkscrews inside him as he took in his surroundings. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It all felt like eons ago now, but actually <em> being here </em>made the memories so fresh in his mind it was as if it could have happened yesterday. He found himself immediately getting overwhelmed. He needed to sit down. But he didn’t even want to touch anything. He felt sick. He ended up sitting on the floor right there in the doorway, an act of stubbornness over anything else. He remembered breaking into this apartment once. He had stalked around it then with as much ease and grace as if he had owned the place. He felt none of that comfort now. He didn’t want to be here. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to be, but it wasn’t here. Still, he found his eyes wandering about the room. He couldn’t help it. Every object he laid eyes on brought forth some kind of memory, clear as day and nauseating in his mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The place was a wreck. Not that it was ever clean, way back when, but Peter could tell that the state of it wasn’t improving. How was Juno doing? How had he taken all of it? Wasn’t he better off without him? Or was that not the case?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter rose to his feet and began the dreadful exploration of the apartment. No one was making him do this, but he felt like he needed to, somehow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wandered the room, each step a memory, spiking pins and needles up through him, like he was walking on glass. He was trying his absolute hardest not to be dramatic, but it was difficult. It was so long ago, he told himself. It was just one little rejection, he told himself, nothing to make a fuss over. Yet still it was so difficult.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He made his way past the open door to the bathroom, and in one glance, locked eyes with his reflection once again. The chill that crawled up his spine was like nothing else. It would never get easier, seeing <em> Juno </em> in the mirror in the place of where his own image should have been. He didn’t know why, but he started to walk towards it. Towards him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Juno,” he said aloud. The words and their inflection sounded all wrong coming out of Juno’s lips, Juno’s lungs. “Juno,” he sighed again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wanted to tell him how he hated him, but seeing his face—his <em> actual </em> face—looking at him with that sadness in his eye… Peter couldn’t. He wasn’t even really here to hear it and he still couldn’t. He couldn’t say anything. Just “Juno,” over and over and over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Juno?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hung on the end of the word, as if he was really waiting for his warped reflection to come alive and respond to him. Foolish. It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I wish I didn’t still care about you,” he whispered. All the hairs on his skin stood on end. “I still care about you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His voice fell. He found himself having trouble forming words anymore. So he just...stood there. Looking into his own eyes that were also Juno’s.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He felt something start to slip within him. He couldn’t look at himself much longer or he was going to really start to lose it. He took a slow, deep breath, and stepped away from the mirror. He cast one last look backward at it, before turning away with finality. A heavy tiredness sunk into him all at once, right then. He was tired. So drained. He just wanted to go to bed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He felt sick though, and the idea of being in Juno’s bedroom made him feel sicker, so he crawled his way onto the couch with all of the energy he could muster.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stared up at the ceiling, heart racing and head swimming with anxieties, old and new. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The exhaustion from the long, confusing day was really starting to set in effectively however, and he found himself drifting off before long. His last delirious thoughts were of Juno’s face, Juno’s voice speaking to him from the other side of the mirror.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>When Juno regained consciousness, he was looking at a familiar ceiling once again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Huh?” he murmured, sitting up. Yup, definitely his couch, he thought to himself, feeling a familiar discomfort in his neck. It felt like ages ago he’d passed out on this couch, and yet… here he was again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What happened…?” He didn’t miss the fact that his voice sounded like, well, <em> his voice</em>. He took a roll into an upright position, scratching his head. He had never been so comforted to put his hand in a mess of his greasy hair before. That couldn’t really have been a dream, could it? It had felt so real, and yet… </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looked around. Wait a minute… hadn’t he fallen asleep in his office? This was his apartment. Why would he sleep on his apartment couch? Groggily, he reached for his comms. It was a different day than he had fallen asleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That’s when the realization struck him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nureyev,” he murmured.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Had that been that real?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Holy shit.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Juno had sent a text to Rita saying he was just going for a walk, and that “he" was sorry for running off yesterday. He wasn't sure how all of that had happened, but he didn't really want to dwell on it. He was on his way to go and grab a coffee and clear his head so they could get down to business on that Ramses shit today for real and cast aside …<em> distractions </em> like yesterday.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked, and his fingers landed on something unfamiliar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hang on… what's this?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Juno pulled a small paper napkin out of his coat, and along with it came a few others, which fell to the sidewalk. He scrambled to pick them up before they could be spirited away by the wind—frantic, as though possessed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He unfolded the first napkin to see… crude drawings, mixed with intermittent scribbled writings. The small words were hard to make out, but the penmanship was unmistakable. It was everything Juno had in him not to collapse onto his knees on the sidewalk right then.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t need anymore proof to know.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter Nureyev woke in a cold sweat. He bolted upright, checked his surroundings, grabbed at his chest with both his hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His hotel room? His body? His same clothes he'd been wearing when he went to sleep here?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He put a hand to his face, and felt comforted when he recognized the shape and feeling of it. Although, did that mean...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It was a dream?” he said aloud.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A crazy realistic one, that was for sure. The thought of it sent a shiver down his spine. Had only one night really passed? He wished he'd been in a better headspace when he'd gotten to the hotel; he couldn't even remember what day it had been. He really had no way of confirming. He still wasn't used to the Martian calendar. He reached out for his comms, to find they weren't where he thought he had left them. Then, the hotel phone rang, startling him out of his wits. He picked it up on the third ring, noting a bit of a tremble in his hand. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hello?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hello, Mr. Xiu. This is just a courtesy call to remind you your checkout time is at 11AM today.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Today? Hadn't he booked two nights at this hotel? Did that mean-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sir?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, thank you, of course.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just wanted to make sure you remembered, after the whole thing yesterday." The receptionist paused. "I know it's not my place to ask, so I won't pry, but... is everything alright?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter frowned. He had no idea what they were talking about. “Yes, o-of course,” he managed. “I'm... um... feeling a lot better now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'm glad to hear that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter wasn't really listening any more. The <em>whole thing yesterday</em>? What whole thing? Could that really have been real? Was Juno....?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The line went dead. He put the phone back into its receiver.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stared at the wall for a second, head swirling with confusion and worry and doubt. He grabbed his glasses from the side table and put them on. He tried to use his best detective mindset for a moment. What didn't line up?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The receptionist's mention of a supposed ‘thing’ yesterday. He had barely spoken to the staff when he'd checked in apart from the usual formalities. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Two, none of his stuff was as he'd remembered leaving it. He looked around the room. His jacket was hung in the closet, which had been left slightly ajar. It had been in a pile on the floor before, right? He hadn’t even opened the closet. He looked around for more clues. He couldn't remember exactly what anything else had looked like, and that dream had been so disorienting, it was messing with his head. It was like he really had spent 24 hours somewhere else; the details of what was supposed to be 'Last Night' were eluding him. He rose and walked over to the mirror. He looked at his reflection, the memory of seeing Juno Steel looking back at him bone-chillingly fresh in his mind. It was suddenly a comfort to see all the things he normally regarded with nothing but disdain: his tired eyes, the wrinkle he had forming, the grey starting to spike in his roots—he had to re-dye his hair again soon. These were imperfections, but they were normal. They were familiar. The deep bags were under his own eyes, not someone else's. And that damned Theia...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shook his head. And that was when he saw it. The next piece of abnormal evidence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peeking out over the top of the garbage can was a small piece of paper. He hadn't put anything in that bin, so this was definitely new. He went to pick it up, and saw that there were a bunch. They were all crumpled and ripped up. He picked up the paper from the top and started trying to unfold it. There was a scrawl of writing on it that had been scribbled out, apparently quite vigorously. It was hard to make out, but it said something along the lines of:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I'm sorry we couldn't talk in person. I wasn't brave enough. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I was a coward </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It cut off there. Peter grabbed another one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I'm sorry. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> -J </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His breath caught the back of his throat. He snatched another paper as quickly as he could. This one read:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Fuck. Oh my fucking god. I’m s—   </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> This is stupid. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter knelt down and dumped the trash can on the floor. He started unfolding another paper. This one was torn up and even harder to make out, but among the words he could make out on it, too, were "fuck" and "sorry."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His heart was beating so fast he could barely think as he unraveled the next note. This one was a little more wordy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Hey, you</em>," it read. "<em>You're probably not very happy to know I've been running around in your body all day. And trust me, I'm not happy about it either. You think I want someone being </em> <em> me </em> <em> all day? You think I wanted to violate your personal privacy like this? No. I hope this hasn't sucked too much for you, I guess. It’s been </em>—"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It stopped there. It had been violently crumpled and discarded. He could imagine Juno writing these in his mind’s eye, trying to put on a casual facade before the real emotions started to slip out. Peter was not sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. He didn't know if he physically could even do either. He uncrumpled the next page, and smoothed it out against the floor with shaking hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Hey. I'm sorry. For everything. I don't know what happened. I don't know why I hurt you or how or how to make it better so I'm not gonna say anything besides sorry. I mean, I guess I already did... Dammit</em>." Crumpled and tossed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Sorry</em>." Crossed out four times, ripped in half, tossed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Hey, ----- </em> " The name was intensely blotted out to the point of total illegibility. The note continued, "<em>I guess I shouldn't say your name on paper, huh? </em> " Then, further down on the bottom of the page, small and retrospective: "<em>All I did was take your gifts for granted. </em>" Crossed out, crumpled up, tossed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Fancy seeing you here. </em>” Scribbled out, folded in eighths, crumpled, tossed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Surprisingly, the one that really got to him was one that read simply:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>It's been a while, huh? </em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was crying now. God, he was crying so much. He was so numb he hadn't even noticed it until he saw a tear splash onto the paper in his trembling hand. He sucked in a strangled breath. A few more tears trickled down and pooled onto the page. He set it down on the floor, trying to calm himself. He focused on breathing in; breathing out. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He slowly picked up another balled up paper and started to smooth it out. It was another iteration of the letter style one, using humour to try and block out the unspeakable. There was so much, so many notes and so many words, and Peter was overcome with guilt. He hadn't even thought to leave a message for Juno. Juno would never know how he felt about him. He was sobbing openly now, unable to hold it back. He was leaving Mars for good after all this time he’d had to say something, and Juno would never know how he felt about him. He felt pathetic, he felt like a coward, an <em> idiot </em>, for all the time he had spent sour, thinking Juno must hate him. Juno wasn't laughing when he left, not one bit. He was broken. God, they were both broken. They’d had it all and they gave it all away, and for what? For nothing. It would be funny if it didn't make him feel like his heart was getting ripped violently out of his chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Juno would never know how he felt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He should have tried to say something. Why didn’t he say anything? They had both seen each other yesterday. Of that he was sure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why had he not said anything, in all the months he had been here? Maybe Juno had been waiting, too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But no, he told himself. No. It didn’t matter now. He hadn’t, and he didn’t need to. He had to leave. If they had talked… there would be no room for simple, uncomplicated closure. Things would surely have gotten… messy, rather quickly. Their feelings for each other were known to lean a little towards the dramatic. He was sure neither of them really needed or wanted that right now, no matter what their complicated (stupid, stupid, idiotic) hearts and bodies wanted to tell them. Maybe some other time, on some far off planet somewhere, out in the farthest reaches of space… things could be different. For now, however, Peter had to move on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He clutched Juno’s notes close to his chest. He was fully aware that he looked a mess right now, but he didn’t care right then. He needed to have this moment. He would give himself this closure; this release, and then he would go. He would say goodbye to Mars—and to Juno—for good.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He let himself cry for a little while, on the hotel floor. And then, rather than throwing them out, or even filing them away, he stacked all of the notes, now unfolded and pressed out, into as neat a stack as he could and he tucked them carefully into his suitcase.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was just one little thing he needed to take care of before he left Mars.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a few days later, and Juno was just about starting to forget that the whole crazy thing had ever happened, when another “mysterious” delivery showed up at the office, addressed to Juno. Rita had apparently accepted it from a “Nice Delivery Man” early that morning, before Juno had arrived. She’d left it on his desk for him, but explained at length about it and the smooth-voiced, tall-dark-and-handsome who had handed it to her before he got to actually lay eyes on the thing. He had just shut the office door behind him, when he saw it and his heart skipped a beat. It was another bouquet of flowers. He had almost no question who it was from. With slightly shaky hands, he picked up the card that was attached to the flowers. It was in an envelope, sealed with an old fashioned wax stamp. <em> Juno </em> was written on it in plain lettering. He took a deep breath before slicing it open with the letter opener he kept in his desk drawer. He unfolded the paper — carefully, as if it were the most fragile object on the planet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My dear detective,” the first line read. Juno’s breath caught in his throat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not sure why I’m penning this now. Perhaps for some sort of closure. If not for you, then for myself. I needn’t be cold, but I’m not going to apologize, either.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m leaving Mars now, for good. I hoped these flowers could be brave enough to say some of the many things I was not. Maybe we’ll meet again some better day, out in the distant stars.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your better half,” it read, “Peter Nureyev.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Juno spent nearly an hour researching the meanings of white and variegated tulips, and purple hyacinths. By the end of it, Rita was knocking on the door with some force, scolding him to “quit daydreamin’” and hurry up with his work. He felt like that was a little hypocritical of her, as this usually went the other way around, but he didn’t say anything. He wiped the mist from his eye with a thumb, and made sure to lock the card away before letting Rita in. He tucked it carefully away in the safe under his desk— placed it delicately alongside the other note that his “better half” had left for him once, so long ago now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before he could finally get back to his work, he cast a longing glance out the window to the midday Martian sky. A beam of heavily filtered radioactive sunlight spilled over his face, and he felt himself smiling into the warmth of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Some day, Nureyev,” he whispered.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!! Kudos &amp; comments are appreciated, and I hope you check out the rest of the works from the event as well!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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